


Cul de Sac

by Russ (Quasar)



Series: Time Heals [16]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Missing Scene, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written October 1998.  Takes place during the episode "Neighborhood Watch."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cul de Sac

**Author's Note:**

> Written October 1998. Takes place during the episode "Neighborhood Watch."

Conner's eyes narrowed dangerously at the word "nag," but she allowed Jim to finish his food in peace, until the last sandwich crust was gone.

"So . . . why _does_ Sandy work with you, anyway?" she asked in a tone of innocent curiosity.

Undeceived, Jim shrugged. "He's gathering material for his dissertation."

"In anthropology, yes, I know. But if he's studying the whole department, why does he ride only with you?"

"Must be my magnetic personality." Jim wandered casually to the window and looked out at the neighborhood. The Tanners' house was dark and silent, yet there was a gleam of light from a fender inside their garage. It seemed rather early for such a social couple to be asleep . . . unless they were exhausted from the activity of previous nights?

Conner's voice broke into Jim's musings. "He's studying _you_ , isn't he? Your -- special abilities?"

Jim sighed. "Conner . . . "

"I know, you don't like to talk about it." She came to stand next to him at the window. "But I can't see why. I told you, I have no trouble believing in psychic phenomena. It's perfectly natural, really -- nothing to be ashamed of."

Jim grabbed the binoculars from the sill and handed them to her. "Look, if you're going to stand here, at least make yourself useful."

Her brows flew up. "End of discussion?"

Jim didn't answer, merely staring out at the street. In the Coleman house, the argument had died down; apparently a cease-fire was in effect. The kitchen light went off, followed by the hall light. Only a soft glow from one of the bedrooms lit the grass at the back of the house.

Conner trained the glasses on the Johnson house, and Jim automatically followed her line of sight. The girl, Rachel, had gone to bed, and Sandburg was in the living room talking with Katie. Jim's chest tightened painfully as he recognized that intensity of concentration he had seen so many times directed at himself. The kid got fascinated by a person or topic of study, and for a while nothing else existed for him. Right now his eyes were so brilliant with interest that their blue seemed to burn into Jim's brain. His hair glinted slickly in the light; lately he'd been using a gel on it. The stuff smelled pleasant enough, and it made Sandburg's hair more resistant to the blustery spring breezes, but Jim couldn't help imagining the greasy feel if he should run his fingers through those dark curls.

Snapping his vision back with a shake of his head, Jim turned away from the window. He had no business thinking about his hands in Sandburg's hair, anyway. It was time to get past all that, and apparently Sandburg agreed -- otherwise why was he across the street putting the moves on a single mother?

At least it showed that he hadn't hurt Sandburg too badly, insisting on his own needs. For a while there he'd been afraid that Sandburg would get carried away, expecting something more. He knew the kid was attracted to him, fascinated by him, even fond of him -- he just prayed it wasn't anything more serious. But if Sandburg could pick himself up and move on so quickly, there was no harm done.

"Does it bother you?" Conner asked softly.

Jim had almost forgotten her presence. "Does what bother me?"

"Watching him with her."

He scowled. "Why would that bother me? Unless she is the witness -- but I already said I'd talk to him about that."

"I think you'd better. But what I meant was, doesn't it make you feel . . . just a bit . . . jealous?"

Jim spun away from the window with a groan. "Oh, god, not that again. I thought we got rid of that damn rumor. Look, Conner, this is the first, last, and only time I'm going to tell you -- Sandburg and I are _not_ a couple. If anyone says differently, they're either lying or just plain wrong."

"I haven't heard any rumors. No one's said a thing. I just gathered, from the way you two act around each other . . ."

"What _way_?"

"Well --" she waved her hands inarticulately "-- close."

"Of course we're close! He's my partner."

"And he lives with you . . ."

"Conner, I know you haven't been in the country long. The cost of living is pretty high around here. Sharing space is nothing unusual."

". . . and then there's the way you objected to going undercover as a couple . . ."

"That's not because of Sandburg, Conner -- it's because of _you_."

". . . not to mention the fact that no one can give me a solid explanation for why Sandy hangs around at all."

"And you think the answer is that we're _lovers_?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I thought about it. But I decided I had to be wrong."

"Good! What brought you to your senses?"

"Well, Captain Banks doesn't seem the sort to put up with dead wood for long. And Detective Rafe told me Sandy'd been with the department even longer than he had. So there must be another reason."

"I told you, he's working on his dissertation."

"But why do you put up with him?" She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. "You need him, don't you?"

At the word 'need,' Jim felt a wave of heat rising to his face. He remembered Blair in the shower, hair beaded with diamonds of moisture, eyes huge and anxious. He turned away quickly, praying that Conner wouldn't catch the blush in the dim light. It would be dim to her eyes, wouldn't it?

"You need him to help you with your gift. That's it, isn't it?" Her voice rose with excitement.

"Conner, you don't know what you're talking about," he growled.

"That's why your arrest record improved so much when he became your partner. You stopped denying your psychic abilities and started using them instead!"

"Could we just drop the subject?"

"But you keep trying to hide your skills -- why?"

"Because I don't like to talk about it, that's why." Jim grabbed up the crumb-filled plates and empty glasses from dinner.

"So you still need Sandy, and you will as long as you keep repressing."

"Dammit, Conner, I am _not_ repressing!" Jim snarled.

"Um. Hi guys." Blair paused hesitantly in the door. "How's it going?"

" _You_ talk to her!" Jim snapped, shouldering past his partner to carry the dishes downstairs.

"What was that all about?" Blair's cautious question floated down the hall behind him.

"Oh, Jim's just throwing a tanty because I was asking about his psychic gift."

"Oh." Blair sounded oddly relieved. "Yeah, he's a little sensitive on the subject."

"A little!"

"Well, you know he's already unhappy about this whole assignment. It's put him on edge."

She gave an unfeminine snort. "On edge, is that what you call it? You should have heard him spit the dummy when I asked if you two were lovers!"

Blair made a choking sound. "You _what_?"

"Well, after the way he stiffened up like a board when I kissed him earlier--"

Jim clenched his teeth, bending over the kitchen sink to scrub at a near-invisible stain on one of the plates.

"Waitwaitwait. Just because Jim's not, um, interested in you -- I mean, that way -- that doesn't mean he's gay. Or even that you're not a good looking woman -- I mean . . ." Blair floundered.

"That's not the point. It's just the man can be so infuriating! I'd squeeze blood from a stone sooner than learn anything by talking to him."

"Look, Megan, you need to back off, okay? When Jim says he doesn't want to talk about something, don't push him."

Jim shook his head as he tossed the plates in the drainer. "Practice what you preach, Chief."

Upstairs, Conner was refusing to give in. "I just don't see why he won't admit the truth. About his gift and about you. Doesn't he realize you're in love with him?"

Jim froze. The house seemed to fill with silence, save for the frantic beating of Blair's heart.

_Tell her she's wrong, Sandburg. Laugh at the idea. Go on, tell her._

At last, the grad student spoke in a level tone. "Okay, look. Number one, Jim and I are not lovers. Number two -- if we were, it would be our own business."

"I just don't want to see you hurt, Sandy."

Still that artificial calm. "And number three -- if I were in love with Jim, do you think I'd be going out with Katie Johnson?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I think it's a bad idea --" Conner launched into a lecture about fraternizing with potential witnesses.

Jim released the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and the kitchen came into sudden focus around him. He sank weak-kneed into a chair, dizzy from the lack of oxygen. The kid had managed to change the subject. Thank God for small mercies.

But what on Earth had Conner meant by saying that Blair was in love with him? What did she see that Jim didn't? Why had she said that they acted 'close?'

He pushed the questions aside and forced himself to climb the stairs. If he didn't, they would just come looking for him. When he walked into the half-finished room he found Blair trying to fend off Conner's advice.

"Yeah, okay, I hear you."

Jim took pity on his partner. "Hey, Conner."

"Jim! I'm trying to explain to Sandy here . . ."

"I think he gets the point, Conner. Now, there's something else I needed to ask you."

"What?" The woman sounded suspicious of the diversion.

"Do you have any relatives in this area? Washington state, I mean."

She blinked. "Well, I . . . yes. I have a cousin who lived in Seattle up until about a year ago. I've been trying to track him down."

"A cameraman, right?"

"How did you know that?" Conner gasped. "Did you have a psychic hit?" She leaned forward eagerly.

Jim held a hand to his forehead dramatically. "He's blond . . . name of -- Michael? Or is it Mickey?"

"We all call him Mickey, but it's really Michael," she said breathlessly. "This is amazing! Do you know where I can find him?"

"I see . . . paintbrushes. A run-down building. A community center." Those should be sufficient clues, he decided, and dropped his hand. "That's all."

"That's incredible! How do you . . . did it just come to you, while you were downstairs?"

Jim watched Blair trying to suppress laughter as he rattled off details about the man who had almost -- inadvertently -- gotten half a SWAT team blown up, then gotten off with community service.

The kid looked happy. His eyes shone as brightly now as they had in Katie Johnson's living room. He wasn't pining away. He certainly wasn't in love. Not with Jim.

"And you had this insight just when Sandy arrived, right? He's the one that really makes it work for you!"

Jim rolled his eyes, but in a way it was a relief to hear the woman make a fool of herself. Conner was just as far off-base about Sandburg's feelings as she was about the whole psychic thing.

Wasn't she?


End file.
